


Compliance

by Anonymous



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Crockertier, F/F, Mind Control, PWP, Second Person Narration, Tentabulges
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:54:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25207297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Who were you to deny your Empress anything?
Relationships: Jane Crocker/The Condesce
Kudos: 18
Collections: Anonymous





	Compliance

It starts with a touch of the shoulder. You don’t notice at first, until she lightly squeezes. You glance over to see her perfectly manicured nails, lightly pressed against the cloth of your shoulder. You turn back. Then, her hand runs down your back. She presses a finger to your spine, tracing down to your buttocks. You jump when she grabs your ass, squeezing roughly. She leans against you, her weight pushing you forward. You make no sound. To keep your balance, you lean on your warfork, your hands trembling. Her other hand reaches up to grab your breast, squeezing it roughly. 

Her hot breath is against your neck. You do not deny her, for it is not your place. Her hands run over your body. Caressing, kneading, squeezing. A part of you is numb to this, another part is terrified. 

Then, as abruptly as it started, she releases. You exhale, stumbling forward. You quickly straighten, standing at attention. She grabs your shoulders again, but this time her hands travel upwards. She pets your hair, pinching your cheek, and cupping your face. You close your eyes, listening to her sweet murmurs of praise. 

When you open your eyes, you’re in her sanctum. A pile of silk pillows next to you. You panic, struggling to remember how you got here. As if sensing your fear, the Condesce cups your face, grinning at you. In spite of yourself, you calm, leaning into her touch. She kisses your forehead. She cradles you, and for a moment you wonder if it was a dream, or if you’re dreaming now. 

“Help me undress.” She says. She turns, moving her hair to reveal a zipper at the base of her neck. Your heart begins to pound. With shaking hands, you unzip her wetsuit. She steps out, her body as perfect as can be. You were so small next to her, barely tall enough to reach her stomach. She tells you to undress, and you obey. You shed your red robes, neatly setting them aside. After you discard your underwear, you reach for your tiara, but she slaps your hand away. 

“That stays.” She orders, and you fold your hands over your waist. 

You’re naked now. If you had the tiara off, you would have been covering yourself in shame. You were not pudgy, though you were self conscious of your child-bearing hips and sizable breasts. You liked the robes, they concealed you and kept you modest. But if the Condesce wished you naked, you would do so.

She knelt down, cupping your face. Her touch is gentle. You lean into it, closing your eyes. This is a privilege no one but yourself can experience. You should be happy, yet you tremble. She is so much bigger than you, and you’re still a virgin. You don’t know how it’s going to work. You don’t want it. But the tiara tells you to trust her.

Her hands travel down to your breasts, cupping them. She squeezes and tugs, thumbs running over your nipples. You bite your lip at the sensation. You’re overly sensitive to her touch. Or perhaps your body is still resisting. You don’t know. You can’t tell. You hold back a whimper.

‘Please stop.’ You want to say, but your mouth does not move. 

“Lay down.” She orders, gently pushing you towards the pillows. Your back hits the cushions, her hands grasping at your legs.

Shame fills you as she parts your thighs, grinning at the sight of your folds. You close your eyes, unable to look at her as her hand meets your entrance. Her nails were dull now - she probably cut them while you were asleep. A single digit presses past your lower lips to touch your clit. You squirm. Your body suddenly feels awkward and stiff, hyperaware of every sensation she was inflicting upon you. Another digits joins, rubbing your clit in slow circles.

It didn’t feel like much. All you felt was shame and fear, unable to deny, forced to trust. But a sensation began to build. It was slight at first, but soon you were wet and your body shook under her hand. She briefly took her fingers away, only to press them between your labia. Her digits plunged in and out of your tightness as her thumb rubbed your clit. You don’t last long.

You come with a gasp, gripping the bed sheets. She looms over you, watching as your orgasm overtakes you. You cry out, though it’s like a sob. It felt _good_. But you want to turn over and sink into the pillows until you’re buried. You close your eyes, tears welling as your orgasm subsides and leaves you as a wet, sweating mess. You feel her take her hands away.

The weight around you shifts. You crack open your eye, seeing her kneeling above you. Your sight moves down to her legs, where her own arousal drips. You watch as something snakes out, thin and disguised as a clitoris. You know what it is. The Tiaratop has already told you.

She picks you up, cradling you in her lap. Your forehead presses against her breast. She pets your back. You watch as she positions your womanhood above her appendage. Slowly, she presses you down. You close your eyes as you feel it enter you. Slick and squirming. Twitching and swelling. And it  _hurts_. 

You cannot tell her to stop or slow down. _She_ wants this; your feelings do not matter. Sobs form in your throat, but never leave your mouth. Your only form of expression is holding onto her, gripping her arms until your nails dig into her skin. When she’s sheathed, you’re finally allowed to whimper.

You’re full. Fuller than you’ve ever felt and ever _will_ feel. She looks down at you with an amused expression, a curled finger at your cheek. You don’t know if the tears have spilled over or if she’s mocking you.

Her hand travels down to the junction between you both. Her fingers dance over clit, teasing. You close your eyes, moaning as you feel her canter her hips and swell her bulge inside. It _writhes_ , coiling against sensitive spots you never knew you had. She holds you close, and you squirm helplessly in her grasp.

The only sounds that escapes you are small sobs and whimpers, while she’s moaning and sighing. She pets your hair, kissing your forehead. She’s rolling her hips now, her bulge plunging deeper into your depths. You’re on the precipice of orgasm now, shaking with anticipation. You don’t want it. 

But a knot inside you tightens when she pulls out. A strangled cry leaves your lips. You quiver as your orgasm washes over you, holding onto her tightly. She rolls her hips once, and her body stills. A slick warmth fills you. You moan, toes curling, and she pulls out. She turns away fro a moment. In her absence, you look down to see pink dripping from your entrance, wetting your thighs. She pushes a bucket between your legs, allowing the water-like substance to drip into the pail. You cover your face. 

Once the cool metal leaves you, she takes you in her arms. She returns to petting your hair, as if nothing happened.


End file.
